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Thegringothey spoke of was none other than Detective Lock Mills, of the major crimes division in Plano. Santos breathed out a frustrated sigh, the rage for this man flowing through his bloodstream. Thispendejoand his team had been a problem for him ever since he arrived in Dallas five years ago.
Mills had been responsible for many shipments of guns and drugs being seized, which had cost him thousands over the years. If anyone else had done that, he would have killed Mills’ family, tortured them before killing the one responsible for his loss.
But the detective was different. He was a worthy adversary, one that played with a different set of rules. The man may not be as ruthless as himself, but he had to give it to the man; he was very dangerous. Santos had seen firsthand what happened if someone messed with his team and their families.
Santiago Dominguez used to be a powerhouse. The Dominguez name was legendary in most of north Dallas. Santiago was ruthless, wealthy, dangerous and stupid. He made the mistake of going after Detective Mills’ family as a retaliation forhisshipment being blown, costing close to a million dollars. Santos had warned the man not to do anything stupid. But if he did retaliate, he must be successful. Others did the same, but Santiago was proud, arrogant and he failed to kill Mills or his family.
The plan was brilliant, Santos had to agree. Lure Mills and his team to a bogus location and kill everyone inside. It would have sent a strong message to anyone who thought of going against him. But somehow Mills got word of the hit and retaliated first. By the time Mills was done with Santiago, the man was left with nothing, no empire, no family or friends. Somehow, and Santos was still trying to figure out how, Mills had turned this man’s allies into his enemies. He never lifted a finger to destroy him, none that anyone could see, but he stood back and watched as the underground world took revenge on the detective’s behalf.
Santos told himself repeatedly that he wasn’t afraid of this,thiscabron,Detective Mills, but he respected him. Instead of waging war against Mills and his team, he figured out alternatives for keeping the cops out of his business and, so far, it had been working. Mills had been quiet, left him alone. Some of that had to do with what had gone down some months back with his underground fighting ring.
Mills also had a witness he had been protecting. Santos had already written off the woman he was protecting a long time ago. He would not go after her. She knew nothing of his operations. She may have understood the inner workings, but Santos had long changed the location of his fighting ring. He changed the functionality of the ring too, how he obtained his fighters, where they were kept, everything. She wasn’t a danger to him or his business. He even thought about telling Mills the woman was safe from his reach, but he didn’t. He figured if his attention was on protecting the woman, he would remain out of his way.
Before Geraldo could open his mouth to speak, Santos replied, “Do nothing. That’s what you do. Do not go near that man or his team and their families. We cannot afford more heat, especially the kind of heat that follows Mills. No, we will figure out a way to restore order and trust within our organization and customers. Avoid bloodshed if possible.”
Luis reached for the cigar smoldering in the ashtray in front of him, placed it between his lips, and waited for anyone to argue or object. He leaned back in his chair, smoke hovering around his face as he watched the men around the table all nodded except Caesar.
Caesar decided to say what he knew everyone was thinking. “What if we cannot avoid it?”
Luis Santos took a long moment to respond. “Then I hope you have your affairs in order. We would be going to war with not only Muñoz but Lock Mills as well.”
Silence ensued, neither lieutenant having the courage to break it. Everyone looked to be deep in thought, knowing Santos’s threat of violence wasn’t an exaggeration.
The door to his suite opened, breaking the silence and in stepped one of Santos’s men, JC, Juan Carlos.
He and Santos made eye contact and immediately he knew something wasn’t right. He sighed, stubbed out his cigar and rose from his seat.
His men all looked up at him.
“Keep discussing strategy. I haven’t heard anything worth listening to. Come up with something or I will fire all of you and find smarter men to take your place.”
He noticed his men straightened their spines, eyes wide, fear covering their faces, which was how it should be. They understood the threat quite clearly. They wouldn’t just lose a job, but they’d also lose their lives in the most painful way imaginable. Santos felt their eyes on him as he stepped away from the large table.
“We have a problem,” said JC, his head of security, once Santos was close.
“What is it?” Santos moved further away from the table, out of ear shot of his men.
“It’s your nephew, Miguel.”
He blew out a breath and instantly felt old, older than his thirty-eight years.
“What has theidiotadone now?”
Santos braced himself for the news. He knew he would not like it.
JC told him about the death of Miguel’s girlfriend, the beating and the fact that the stupid cunt left her body there for the cops to find. He also left something else.
Santos’s eyebrows rose. “There was a witness?”
“Yes, a woman. From what our contact told us, she was on the scene. He’s not sure if she saw anything or not, but he figured it was smart for him to tell us.”
“And this woman? Can she identify Miguel?”
“We do not know.”
Santos narrowed his eyes, his temper revving his engine.
“Why don’t we fucking know?” he growled out.
